Oliver Anderson
by HailParadise
Summary: Kurt loves Blaine. He really does. That doesn't stop him from wanting to kill him sometimes.


_AN: Just a little ficlet to put out there as I work on the sequel of IWYTB. This story has nothing to do with that verse. It is highly illogical and most likely impossible. I also make up words. Just go with it._

Oliver Anderson

Of all of the things that Kurt loved about Blaine, and there were many, it was only to be expected that there would be some characteristics that just made him want to strangle his boyfriend as well.

Like how given any alcohol at all, his inner bisexual would start showing.

Or how he would leave his dirty socks under the throw pillows on their couch. Seriously. Why would they be under there. When asked about it, Blaine just shrugged and explained that sometimes when he was watching tv on the couch he would feel this need to burrow like a baby kangaroo. However, given that he was adult man sized (well, sort of) the only part of him that could burrow were his feet.

They had been dating long enough at this point that Kurt knew it would be completely useless to point out to Blaine that A, he was pretty sure that baby kangaroos didn't burrow underground, and B, Blaine was perfectly capable of taking his socks off before sticking his gross, sweaty feel under his carefully selected and tastefully decorative throw pillows.

Or how he was completely incapable of cooking anything without completely destroying their kitchen. Ask him to make toast and Blaine would somehow manage to get 6 dishes dirty and butter on the ceiling.

But all of these bad habits combined were nothing compared to Blaine's new hobby on the scale of "things that make Kurt Hummel's skin crawl".

It all started when they went to see Rachel in a community theater production of "Oliver Twist." Blaine was completely enthralled by the scene where they try to teach Oliver how to be a pickpocket. That part was fine.

What was not so fine for Kurt, was that in addition to enthralled, Blaine was inspired. That night marked the start of an incredibly long and painful period of time where Blaine had convinced himself that he in fact would be a pickpocket of infamy and note.

Of course, the only person that he could practice this skill on without danger of being arrested or hit over the head with a shovel was his lovable, sweet boyfriend who would obviously find this new pastime completely adorable and not at all annoying.

Yeah, right.

For the next five weeks Kurt could barely take three steps into their apartment without Blaine sidling up to him and "subtly" giving him a hug, or grabbing his ass, all the while sliding his hands into Kurt's pockets in an attempt to swipe his wallet or phone.

For the first few days it was even kind of fun. Kurt's pants were way too tight for Blaine to ever actually succeed in his venture, and it was certainly resulting in markedly more groping time in their relationship.

But it very quickly got old.

Then there was the day that Kurt raced in the door of their New York apartment, fighting a desperate need to pee that had been spurning him ever since he got on the subway. He basically bowled Blaine over trying to get to the bathroom, but Blaine's hand had already snuck into his back pocket. So as Kurt attempted to race away, Blaine's fingers caught on the thin fabric, filling the apartment with a telltale and spine chilling ripping sound.

Needless to say, Blaine kept his dirty socks company on the couch that night.

But even the scorn and insults that were bestowed upon him after hopelessly ruining part of Kurt's wardrobe were only enough to deter Blaine for a couple of days. At this point, Kurt realized that if he had any hope of saving his sanity, not to mention his relationship, he would need to come up with a new strategy to curtail the efforts of his incredibly inept thief.

So this brings us to the present. Blaine half drowsed in bed, idly flipping through the pages of the newest Tom Clancy novel. Kurt sat cross-legged next to him, watching his boyfriend through the corner of his eye as he pretended to catch up on the last few issues of _Vogue._

Five minutes later, Blaine's forehead wrinkled in confusion. Has the room suddenly gotten colder? Where is that draft coming from? Blaine looked over the top of his book, perplexed, to discover that he is no longer wearing any pants.

He looked at Kurt. Kurt languidly stretched and raised an eyebrow.

"And that, my friend, is how you just got out pick-pocketed."

Blaine just grinned sheepishly and never tried to snatch his boyfriend's wallet again.

His pants on the other hand ...


End file.
